if someone like you found someone like me
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: She sits on one of the mushrooms of that Alice statue, her boots dangling over the edge, and tells him about the seriously disasterous audition that left her crying on a grimy sidewalk on 49th.


Title: if someone like you found someone like me

Chapter: 1/1

Pairing: Puck/Rachel

Disclaimer: Don't own _Glee_

Author's Note: Written for the Puck/Rachel drabble meme over on Livejournal. Enjoy!

* * *

They've been best friends for fucking ever.

Really it's only been about four years. But he can't seem to remember all the years when they weren't friends, so he just tells everyone it's been forever. Let people call him a liar, see where that gets them.

All the memories he has that include her just seem brighter somehow (if she heard him say that, she'd get that goofy grin on her face that's usually reserved for anything Barbra or Broadway-related; she only uses it around him when he says something sweet, like she's happy that he's a human being or something). Whatever. They do. If that makes him a pussy, he can deal.

He can still picture the first day he saw her in New York (he'd seen her hundreds of times in Lima but New York was different; it always would be).

* * *

He comes out of Starbucks, cappucino in hand, and almost breaks his neck tripping over the person who's decided it's ok to sit against the side of the building. So not. Know why? 'Cause people fall over the long-ass legs taking up half a New York City sidewalk.

The string of curse words he's about to direct at the idiot dies on his lips as he turns and actually sees who it is.

"Rach?"

No response. He decides industrial-strength therapy is in order; he's mistaking random girls for Rachel Berry. That shit's whack. He mentally prepares himself for the bitch-slap he's sure to get in the next few seconds (New York girls don't take kindly to cases of mistaken identity; they tended to think it was a skeevy come-on).

When he doen't feel a hand against his cheek right away, he cracks an eye open and glances around warily.

"Noah? What on earth are you doing?"

Thank fuck. It's her. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"I could ask you the same thing, babe." A smile lights up her face and he's about to laugh at the fuckin' ridiculous way they met up again, when he notices that her smile's no longer in place. Tears are rolling down her face, making her mascara look like crap and, shit, had he done something in the last second and a half to make her bawl? That's a new record.

He pulls her into his arms, because, hello, crying chicks were never something he liked to see. And this isn't just any chick; it's Rachel.

"You want to go somewhere and talk?" He holds her away from him so he can get a better look at her face. Except she's staring at the sidewalk, biting her lip, trying like hell to compose herself. Yeah. That shit? Totally not happening.

He puts his finger under her chin, tilting her face up so that she's looking at him. "I don't bite. I swear."

That earns him a snort, as if she doesn't believe him. "Hey, missy. Don't even go there. I've never unleashed the wrath of The Puckerone on you, believe me."

She has this tiny smile on her face, like she couldn't stop it from coming out. He knows she's thinking about how true that is; the slushie facials don't really count anymore, they seem like a lifetime ago.

He slings his arm across her shoulders and, with a "Let's blow this popsicle stand!" (it gets a laugh out of her), he walks her in the direction of the nearest subway station.

They eventually end up in Central Park. She sits on one of the mushrooms of that Alice statue (it's where she wanted to go, all right?), her boots dangling over the edge, and tells him about the seriously disasterous audition that left her crying on a grimy sidewalk on 49th. He tells her the casting director's a fuckin' asshole if he can't see how amazing she is.

* * *

He walks her home.

She kisses his cheek, thanks him for the lovely afternoon and for believing in her.

* * *

He can't pinpoint the exact day they go from being friends to being _best _friends.

It's somewhere between bombed auditions, chai lattes on winter mornings, calling her four times a day just to see how she is (shut up!) and remembering the feel of her hand in his even when it's not there.

* * *

There's another memory that sticks out in his head.

She calls him at work crying so hard he can barely understand her.

"Rach, babe, you gotta help me out here. Deep breaths. I can't understand anything you're fucking saying right now."

He hears her gulp in air before she starts again.

"Liam...broke...up...me," she sobs. "He's...love...his paralegal."

Well, shit. He does not see that one coming. He'd figured it was just another part she hadn't gotten. It's been two years since that day in Central Park and she's gotten better at the whole rejection thing but, sometimes, it still gets to her.

This is so much worse than a shitty audition.

She's been dating Liam for a year and a half. He works for some huge law firm uptown, makes tons of money and looks exactly like Chace Crawford (her words; he always thought the dude looked like Ichabod in the cartoon version of _Sleepy Hollow_. She said he was just jealous. She was right.).

"Noah? Are you even listening to me?"

Her voice brings him back to the situation at hand.

"Yeah. Guy's a major fucktard."

"That well may be. But it doesn't change the fact that he dumped me for a bottle-blonde with a huge rack," she says. He hears a thump and knows she must have thrown her hairbrush at the wall. It's her trademark move when she's seriously pissed. (He's had to dodge quite a few himself in the course of their friendship.)

"Listen," he says, "I can't leave til 6." He looks at his watch. It's only 1. "I'll be at your apartment by 6: 45. You gonna be alright until then?"

"Uh huh." She sounds like a little kid and he just wants to hug her

* * *

* * *

As soon as he walks into her apartment, he knows she's started the wallowing phase.

She's in her Paul Frank pajamas (they're reserved for break-ups and sick days), there's a can of soy whipped cream on the coffee table and she's watching _My Girl_. That shit never fails to make her bawl; as soon as Vada (who the hell names a little girl something that sounds like it's out of _Star Wars_?) starts with the 'he needs his glasses...' crap, she's a goner.

"Get up." He claps in front of her face a few times to get her attention. "We're goin' out."

"I just want to watch my movie and sleep," she whines. "Can't you just let me rot in peace?"

He laughs. Always the drama queen, this one. "Nope. You can rot tomorrow. Tonight we're gonna drink our faces off," he tells her, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. "Get dressed. Now."

She doesn't argue this time. He thinks that's a good sign.

* * *

This was the most kickass idea ever! Seriously. He's a fuckin' genius.

Rachel's currently up on the bar at some dive in the Village, serenading the entire place.

_"You sound so innocent, all full of good intent, swear you know best...I'm not the one who's lost, with no direction, oh, but you'll never see...Who died and made you king of anythinnnngggg?" _

She sounds awesome (given the fact that she's had like 6 ridiculously girly drinks and can barely stand). The plan was to get shit-faced. Rach definitely gets an A.

Finished with her song, she's currently trying to climb off the bar. It would be hilarious if he wasn't worried about her cracking her head open like a watermelon. He shakes his head to get rid of that fuckin' lovely visual, rushes over and catches her spectacularly as she finally loses her balance.

"Easy, short stuff." He sets her back on her feet gently, loops her arm around his shoulder and half-carries her to the door.

"What's wrong with me, Noah?" she asks once they're on the street.

"You'll be fine by tomorrow afternoon, Rach. You're just a lightweight."

"No!" She shakes her head so fast it makes his head spin a little. "That's not what I mean." Her chin quivers and a tear falls from her eyelash onto her cheek.

He knows what she means, he just doesn't know if he can give her an answer without giving himself away.

Reaching over and wiping the tear away with his thumb, he whispers, "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

You'd think, after that night, he'd get his act together and tell her he has feelings for her.

It takes another year before that happens because he's emotionally stunted or something.

* * *

* * *

It's opening night of her first Broaadway (not off-off Broadway, not off-Broadway, Broadway!) play (she's the lead in a revival of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Cinderella) and tonight's the night.

He's gonna man up and tell her he doesn't want to be best friends anymore. Well, he does, he just wants to be in a relationship with her too.

* * *

When he gets to the theatre at 7:30, he looks up at the marquee and sees her name in lights.

It's really there.

He's kind of freaking out.

* * *

During intermission, one of the stagehands leaves his post and goes to change the lettering on the marquee out front.

Yeah, he could get fired for this. But the guy who asked had looked really desperate and he felt kind of bad.

Plus, he'd gotten $250 for his effort.

* * *

He meets her at the stage-door after the show, hands her the biggest bouquet of peonies she's ever seen, pulls her into a hug.

"You were amazing," he whispers against her hair. "Seriously. Nailed it."

"Thanks." She's blushing. "Let's hope the Times theater critic feels the same way." She starts to walk down the alley but he grabs her hand, leading her around to the front of the theatre.

"Noah, why're we...?" Her breath hitches as she takes in the message written in lights where her name should have been.

_Kiss me stupid_.

He watches her face but he can't tell what she's thinking. Damn. Why does she have to be such a good actress? It'd be so much easier if he could read her like a book. She never makes life easy for him.

She stares at the message for another minute before she turns toward him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispers, the words almost getting lost in the wind.

He shrugs, puts his hands in his pockets. "Didn't want to ruin anything. Liked you too much to risk losing you."

"You're an idiot. You do know that, right?"

"So...you...?"

She nods, bites her lip.

He grabs her and kisses her. She tastes like vanilla and cinnamon (she's addicted to those damn chai lattes, couldn't go a day without one).

He thinks being more than friends thing is gonna be pretty amazing.


End file.
